


Blue Stockings

by pretentioys



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Issues, Interracial Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Third Person, Period-Typical Sexism, Rating May Change, Speakeasies, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, trans!Anna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:01:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pretentioys/pseuds/pretentioys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elsa finally spoke, drawing his attention away, “You promised me you would stop, Anders. You said you weren’t going to keep taking my dresses and makeup, dressing up like a girl...”<br/>//<br/>In mid 1920s America, Elsa Anderson deals with being a low-paid and overworked immigrant and defensive older sister of a transgender Anna, who keeps overstepping her sister's protective boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some warnings and disclaimers are in order, so let’s get them out of the way. I have tried to the best of my ability to reflect the experience of a transgender person with as much accuracy as I could manage, so with that being said:
> 
> 1\. This fanfic will portray the experience of a transgender woman (MTF) who lived during the 1920s.  
> 2\. This fanfic will also portray the stigmas and prejudice that was present during that time period.  
> 3\. This fanfic will contain offensive and potentially triggering terms.  
> 4\. This fanfic will use old-fashioned or out-dated terms in order to reflect properly the time period in which it is set.
> 
> I apologize in advance in any inaccuracies found in this fanfic, whether they be about transgenderism, history, or anything else you might find. Please do inform me of such inaccuracies either in the comments, or preferably in a private message. Thank you.

Elsa padded around the apartment, her bare feet producing a resounding percussion against timbered floor. She held onto blue robes that were tightly wrapped around her to cover the white sleeping gown that clung to her damp frame, and her sopping hair dripped down with quiet splatters, creating puddles that trailed behind her like the wedding train of a bride. The sounds becoming Elsa’s own personal musical accompaniment.

The blonde advanced on her wardrobe and opened the second to middle drawer, searching and sifting through various stitched hosiery. She huffed a few moments later, utterly failing to turn up what she wanted in the ransacking of her sock drawer. She quickly checked in vain through a striped hat box, only finding colored tissue paper.

“Dammit.”

Elsa stood up from her crouched position on the floor. Scowling, she turned on her heel and made for the other bedroom, belonging to her brother. She halted at the face of an off-white door, and positioned her balled fist an inch away to knock before doing so. 

With the peak of aggravation crisping her voice, she bade, “Anders! Did you take my clothes again?”

There was no reply, Elsa assumed because her brother was probably still asleep. She swore the nineteen year old had no worldly interests beyond sleeping and primping. The sister pulled the door open slowly until she saw him in the dulled light of dawn filtered through the thin, window curtains. Elsa walked over to her sibling, who nestled closer into his pillow as his queerly long red hair splayed out, filling into every crevice in the cot. 

The woman tugged at the sheets and pulled the younger onto the floor with a loud thud, and with a sharp tone Elsa spoke, “Wake up.”

Anders woke up immediately on contact to the floor and flopped amusingly around like a beached fish. As he struggled to untangle himself from the strangulating blankets, the male whined, “What was that for?”

Elsa stared pointedly at her little brother, “You’ve been stealing my clothes again.”

Anders immediately stopped his struggling and met Elsa’s biting gaze. His mouth hung open slightly, tongue dry. His heart coiled painfully in his chest as he tried to explain, “I just wanted...”

Elsa sighed, a worried crease in her brow cracking her smolder as she offered the redhead a hand and pulled the lightweight up easily. The two sat down on the cot, leaving the snakelike sheets coiled wickedly at their feet. 

Anders bit his lip and looked down, his shoulders knotting together tensely, “I’m sorry.”

Elsa looked away in discomfort, unbefitting of her natural noblesse. Anders noticed her hair and how it had dried funnily and plastered itself to the side of her face, which only added to the unnaturalness of her appearance. 

Elsa finally spoke, drawing his attention away, “You promised me you would stop, Anders. You said you weren’t going to keep taking my dresses and makeup, dressing up like a girl...”

His sister’s tone stung, the amount of disappointment and guilt in it tightened his heart with every syllable. 

“I know what I promised...” Anders started out clumsily, “but...”

Elsa fondled Anders’ hands comfortingly in her lap, “You feel wrong, when you aren't I know. But I’m sure if you just went without long enough then you could change-”

“No!” Anders jerked his hand away from Elsa, and he looked at her in an expression that his sister could only describe as resentment. Anders gave shaky sigh and he licked his lips, “...I can’t change.”

Elsa’s eyebrows again creased, but this time from confusion. Like a hawk anatomizing its prey before swooping down for the kill, her icy eyes focused in on him. She waited. 

“I feel like I belong as a woman. I have wanted for so long to be one, and I’m not going to pretend anymore... I’m finally ready to be myself now and I want you to accept me. Please.” 

Anders hastily wiped his eyes. He had been moved to tears in his avowal and was visibly shaking. Meanwhile, Elsa had been struck dumb, as her mind raced with a million worthless thoughts and memories, feeling limited in herself for the first time in forever. 

His sister stood up from the cot, and Anders observed uneasily as Elsa pulled out a drawer from his armoire and pulled out one of her stolen dresses. He always hid clothes in the same place.   
Elsa brought the dress close and grasped it to her chest, similarly like a devoted mother cradling her swaddled child. 

She gently laid the gown on the bed, “Take it. If this is what you are then I will accept that, Anders.”

Elsa gave her brother a small smile.

Anders leapt up and locked his arms around his sister’s midsection causing Elsa to freeze. Rigidly and desperately, she grasped Anders back and kissed the top of his head where red hair parted. 

Physical affection was rare for the siblings and the two hadn't hugged in years, but there was no need to comment on that, nor on the hot tears that dripped down the back of Elsa’s neck.

“Can you call me Anna?”

“Of course.”


	2. Chapter 2

Street lights illuminated the freshly rained on concrete, the scent of petrichor and the vague light of dusk made Elsa struggle to not succumb to exhaustion, but her hustled pace shot endorphins throughout her body, counteracting any fatigue she felt. Elsa barely slowed down as she rounded a street corner, her long skirt flowing against the form of her legs.

Elsa halted when she reached a shop that was painted a putrid green by a painter who had the gall to call himself anything but colorblind. Light flooded out of two large store windows and into the street, which bothered Elsa’s eyes a little because it was the only shop that still had its lights on. Elsa gave a outward breath to steady her breathing and readjusted herself, straightening out her skirt and brushing her hair back into place under her cloche. 

She anchored her head to look up at the hand-written letters on the shop sign that declared itself a herbal remedy store. But she and the rest of the people in the neighborhood had a pretty good idea of what went on underneath. 

If anybody who wasn’t specifically looking for it went into the shop they would be none the wiser. They wouldn’t have known about the door that had been painted over to blend in with the wall, and they would not have known of the staircase, or would they know that it led to a pre-war cellar that had been gutted and renovated in a matter of weeks until it resembled any other nightclub. They wouldn’t know about any smuggling of booze or illicit gambling that went on in said nightclub. 

Elsa stood in front of the door that was that same shade of putrid green, and touched the iron handle that would open the last defense against a police raid. She pulled and a cloud of cigar and cigarette smoke fell over her, this time she didn’t cough like the first month she had worked here. Elsa was building up a resistance, she’d guess, the thought was not reassuring. 

Glancing at the sign above the door that read Walt’s, she entered. Elsa notes the lack of customers, but that was the norm for the bar around this time. As she removes her hat and coat, she concludes that she has an hour and a half at best to clean up before the crowd showed up, an hour and a half of dignity. 

“You’re late.” 

Elsa craned her neck, and met the eyes of the person who made her job a bit more bearable. 

With a small smile, she greeted, “Kristoff.”

Kristoff rubbed his neck, failing to stifle a grin, “Don’t give me that. I know you hate to work here, so do I, but you can’t come in late so often. You’re lucky that the Duke wasn’t here.”

“It won’t happen again.” Elsa said, and she went and grabbed a broom. 

She swept for a good ten minutes around the bar when tiredness began to creep up on her again. Elsa covered her mouth with a hand as she kept yawning, and Kristoff stared at her. Elsa shot him an annoyed glance.

He laughed, “You just look tired. How much sleep did you get last night?”

“I left here around three last night and then, you know I work as a secretary, so I started today at seven... so maybe three hours of sleep?” 

“Not easy being an immigrant.”

Elsa gave a wry smile, “Whatever you say, Bjorgman.”

Elsa kept sweeping and Kristoff cleaned out beer mugs with a rag, before saying, “The Duke hired a new fella. His name is Hans, I think? It’s ridiculous... How many guys does he need for heavy-lifting? He already has those two bimbos.”

Elsa scoffed, “And I asked him for a raise 3 weeks ago and he said he would consider it. But he goes ahead and hires a man for double my salary.”

Kristoff nodded sympathetically, “And you know what the Duke told me? I have to train the guy.”  
“You?”

“I haven’t even gone on a booze run in months! And he expects me to show him the ropes? I just hope he isn’t a bastard,” Kristoff cleared his throat at his cuss, “Sorry.”

Elsa laughs.

“Kristoff!” A nasally voice called.

The two blondes looked over to their short boss, the Duke, or weasel as his employees seemed to enjoy calling him behind closed doors. He was a veteran of the World War, but whether he actually left the country is debatable. He seemed almost too pompous and well-off to have been anywhere resembling of the men who went to war. 

Kristoff grimaced, “Yes, Duke?”

“I told you it was your job to drill Hans on what is what,” The Duke frowned, and side glanced at Elsa, “Not flirting with the women.”

Kristoff clenched his jaw, “I’m sorry. I will go find him.”

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet. Miss Anderson, would you please go,” The Duke eyed her broom, “sweep?”

“Yes, sir.” Elsa sighed, and went to the other side of the room, nearer toward the stage. She cleaned and tried not to cuss out her boss.


	3. Chapter 3

A big house set on a hill, copper and brown bricks laid by volunteers whose ability to care was ordained by how much the state funded. The smell of smoke from two large chimneys that invaded every nook and cranny of the house, and the specs of soot that made little eyes’ red until they learned not to touch them with black hands. The two narrow windows that provided the view for 80 young boys, who could make like sardines just to catch a glimpse of the food truck that never came soon enough. 

This was Kristoff’s life until the age of eight when he was shoved off onto a train car that were reminiscent of ones that carried cattle. He along with the many other children were shut in there. The only light was gleaned from the tiny spaces in between thin wood boards, and the sound of the train wheels clicking with the tracks, which reverberated like the tone of the Angelus bell. The clicking never deafened the sound of crying.

It was hours until the train car door opened again, and Kristoff caught view of wide open plains and short wood buildings and barns. He had never seen anything like it in Chicago. He was ushered into a line, set between a taller boy and a girl who wore her hair in braids. A dozen people were mobbed in front of him, and he kept looking around at their faces. Wrinkled, young, bearded, shaven, pretty, and ugly faces. 

His dark hazel eyes continued to scan the crowd, until he set his sights on an older couple in the front who were murmuring amongst themselves. The man was rather stout, but brawny and he wore a cap and dirt-worn dungarees. He was leaning over, talking, to a woman who Kristoff assumed was his wife. She looked nothing like he had ever seen before, she had black skin. Her nappy hair was tied up into a bun and decorated with colorful feathers, she was smiling brightly and fondly looking at the man. 

Kristoff jumped when the woman flicked her eyes over to him, still grinning, and pointed at him with an index finger. The man looked over at him as well, and shook his head exasperatingly and Kristoff read his lips that said “no”. The woman’s lips stretched into a thin line, then settled into a pout. She said something, and the man sighed and he slipped out where Kristoff lost track of him. He remained and looked at the colored woman who watched him back.

A few moments later, Kristoff was pulled from the line by the scruff of his neck by one of the men who was on the train with them. He barked an order at Kristoff, who stumbled after the man, until Kristoff was plopped down right in front of the the couple. 

“Hey,” The woman kneeled down to him, careful not to step on her long dress, “I’m Bulda. That’s Cliff.”

Bulda gestured smoothly to herself, and then to her husband behind her. Kristoff glanced at him.

Cliff cleared his throat, revealing his gravelly voice, “Clifford.”

Bulda laughed, “So, little one, what’s your name?”

The couple took him in and raised him as their own, they lived together on a small plot of land that was fourteen miles away from the town that he was first dropped at. He lived there twelve years and he was happy, until he left at the age of twenty and he went back to Chicago.

Now he’s been here for five years, and whatever ambition he had before was gone. He got involved in a speakeasy, doing a handful of booze runs for the Duke, which got him a fair bit of money. Kristoff eventually put his foot down and refused to go anymore. It was getting too risky for him, and his boss let him just serve drinks and tend the bar, something which Kristoff preferred greatly. 

He swore that he wouldn't be going back to the runs and hasn’t for the last five months, but the Duke seems set on dragging Kristoff back in. So, now, the blonde has to train some guy named Hans.

After the Duke finished shouting his ear off, Kristoff saw no one in the lounge except for Elsa, who was still sweeping up. Kristoff furrowed his eyebrows, and headed down the hallway that opened up into the backstage and the dressing room for the performers. He made his way until he saw one of the dancers named Maxine and a male in a suit chatting, and getting a bit too cosy. 

“Hey!” Kristoff grabbed the the man, pulling him back. 

With the man in his grasp, Kristoff got a clearer look at him. He was a few inches shorter than Kristoff himself, and he had trimmed red hair and hazel eyes, and he wore a black suit with white pinstripes with a flower tucked in his lapel. Kristoff immediately pinned him as a cad.

“Is he bothering you?”

He turned to the dancer, Maxine, who was in her costume already, a small silvery dress with thin straps that were lined with faux pearls. She glared at Kristoff, her heavy blue eyeshadow adding a threat to her smolder. 

“Kristoff, I swear! Jesus, no, he was not bothering me!” She answered in her slight accent. 

Kristoff deadpanned, and inspected the man once more before relinquishing him, “Who are you?”

The male let out a giant breath, and straightened himself. He put his hand out, and said, “Hans Westergard. Nice to meet you. And you’re Kristoff?”

Kristoff didn’t return the handshake. He was perplexed by Hans, when he had heard the name he had expected some big and hairy German right off the boat, but instead he got a college boy in a suit. 

“Maxine, can you excuse us?”

The girl started, “Nuh uh, you’re just gonna hit him when I leave!”

Kristoff looked at her, “Please.”

Maxine clenched her fists, carving her brightly-colored nails into her skin. She shot Kristoff a glare and let off, leaving Hans and Kristoff alone.

Kristoff knitted his eyebrows, “Yeah. I’m Kristoff. And I’m suppose to be showing you the ropes, but first...”

“Let me lay down some rules.” He watched Hans, who was momentarily unimpressed.

“Yes?”

“You don’t talk to the girls like that. You don’t touch them, you don’t look at them like that.”

Hans raised an eyebrow, “She wasn’t minding it.”

“I don’t care, whether Maxine minded or not. You will treat the women here with respect, and that includes not exercising any intentions you have. As far as I’m concerned, the women here are your betters, whether they’re cleaning or dancing.”

Hans nodded, “Okay. Anything else?”

Kristoff eased, and took a step back from Hans. “Not really. Just keep hands off, do your own work, and we’ll be just fine. I’ll show you where the booze is.”

Hans followed the blonde without another word, looking around the club inspectingly. Kristoff ran a hand through his hair in irritation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events described in the early half of this chapter really occurred. In the late 1800s to well after the end of WWII, there were orphanages in the United States that would house up to 200 to 400 children in them. Kristoff’s was one of the rarer small ones. They were often pretty big facilities in the their heyday, but by the close end they began to be replaced with cottage like institutes that simulated more the life of home, these were similar to foster homes of today. There were a few orphanages that persisted in the United States until the early 1970s, one of which was a Catholic institution called Angel Guardian and it housed around 400 kids when it closed down in ‘74. 
> 
> The whole train scene was based on the Orphan Train Movement. It was a supervised welfare program that took orphaned and homeless children between the ages of 6 to 18 and carriaged them from the congested Eastern cities of America to foster homes that were chiefly located in the rural areas of the Midwest. In some cases, once the children were arrived they were lined up and auctioned off to awaiting crowds. They were given to anybody and it was called ‘adoption’, and there was no real system to it nor any paperwork. The children were often chosen for house or field work, and some girls were even sold into prostitution. Some abolitionists of the time equated this treatment to that of slavery, although some pro-slavery advocates regarded it as a part of the abolitionist movement since the labor by the children helped make slaves unnecessary. This relocation of children ended in the 1920s with the start of organized foster care in the United States.


	4. Chapter 4

Anna’s blue eyes flicked and jumped as she absorbed all the things around her.

The stagnant, underground air of the club was offset by the tang of tobacco and alcohol. The atmosphere was intoxicating, the place was bathed in an infectious revelry that made Anna’s mind buzz. Music fell perfectly in step with the people, creating a rhythm in brass and string instruments with their talented maestros.  
Anna subconsciously began to bounce to the spirited sounds with a dumb smile broached out on her face. When her friends called out to her to hurry, the magnetic hold jazz had on Anna fell.

She hesitantly withdrew from the crowd and trailed behind her schoolmates. They led far away from the excitement until they stopped at a clothed table that could fit a lot more than their small group.

Anna’s friends sat themselves down. One scruffy-faced boy took up two spots as he stretched out, lounging and resting his wing-tip Brogues over the arms of a chair. Juxtaposing him was Helen, the only person Anna actually knew, wiggled up close in the lap of a well-dressed blonde. 

Anna still stood awkwardly when the stubbled boy spoke, “Hey, Helen, who’s the Dora?”

Helen glanced up from her admirer of the night, and her ruby-painted lips turned up in a smirk, “Oh, that’s Anna.”

She did not bother further with introductions, returning her affections to the blonde. Drawing a chortle from the boy.

He nodded at Anna lazily, “Well, since the lady’s too busy neckin’... I’m Lee. That one under Helen’s Louis.”

Anna curtsied to them, in a gesture of greeting. 

Having curtsied, the rouged lady on film seamlessly raised her Parisian trained skirt, wasp-waisted and poised in her décolletage, greeting a seven-year-old Anna.  
Anna loved going to the cinema. She couldn’t always understand the words flickering on screen, but to watch the women in belled gowns and hair done to look like waterfalls of curls captivated her enough. 

She saw them cursty and smile, and in the end they received their gracious dues when they’re finally swept off by the leading man. It provided Anna with an idealization of femininity and her desire for it, something she didn’t entirely realize at that age. 

She was still fond of how Elsa clipped her hair short with fabric shears and the big shorts she wore, her problematic habits of dressing up still confined to playtime, but when Anna saw these Elysian women she felt different. It tickled that part of her that liked dress up and pretend, they made her envious.  
A green envy that made Anna’s heart coil tight as it did now. Her curtsy had brought the sidelong glances of Helen and Louis, bemused by the action. Anna’s heart tightened and coiled with a red embarrassment. 

Lee sniggered, “Sit down, will ya?”

Her heart began to unravel like a simple spool of thread at Lee’s stifled laughter, easing her. She grinned awkwardly and took a seat next to the boy. Forgetting Anna’s faux pas, the couple continued on with their neckin’, as Lee put it.

“So how are ya this fine evenin’?” 

Anna smiled avidly, “Amazing. The music, the people, and...”

“The hooch!” Lee cheered, knocking back a drink.

“Yeah.” Anna cheered half-heartedly. 

The boozy noticed, “You don’t sound very excited now.”

“I’ve never had hooch before.”

Lee set his drink down with a noticeable clunk, and leaned up to Anna, “Ya know we’re gonna havta’ fix that.”

Within moments, the table was spruced up with a round of liquor and Anna had a mug in her hands. She stared down at the brown concoction, the stink of it struck her senses and caused her eyes to water. 

Turning to Lee, Anna asked, “What does it taste like?”

“What do ya mean ‘what does it taste like’? It tastes like booze!” 

Anna made a face at her drink before sighing, she brought the rim to her lips and tipped it back. The alcohol hit her tastebuds and Anna immediately spit it back, but the heaviness of the liquor stuck to her tongue like paste. The girl coughed and spit, eventually managing to gather the alcoholic syrup in a gob that plopped out of her mouth onto the floor. Anna wiped her mouth with a hand, eyes watering profusely.

Lee stared, smirking slightly, “Strong stuff, ain’t it?”

Anna still catching her breath, nodded jerkily.

“You’ll get used to it.”

Anna was about to reply when a woman in a silver dress came up behind Lee, draping her arms over his shoulders and whispering in his ear. Lee grinned at the woman as she sprinkled wet kisses around his collar. He got up from his seat, hands never leaving their grasp around the woman’s thick waist. 

His eyes jumped back to attention at Anna, “It was swell talkin’ to ya, but I got some business. S‘cuse me.”

With that, the two scurried off down a corridor with the woman tittering all the way.

Before the redhead could process what had happened, Helen jibed, “They’re sure doing more than just neckin’.”

As Anna shuffled away from the couple, she heard their laughter, her heart coiled again awfully. 

Anna walked, needing to find herself a quiet place. Which was difficult, as the club was filled with people. Filled with loud, drinking, neckin' people. Anna squeezed her eyes tight and walked a little faster.

There. An empty spot, amongst the raucous of the crowd. Well, not entirely empty, there sat a ginger-haired man against the wall, at a table. His red hair was trimmed neatly and he wore a fitted suit, he didn’t look particularly untrustworthy to Anna.

“Hello.”

The man had noticed Anna before she could even make a move. 

As fumbling was her usual eloquence, she replied, “Um, hi.”

Anna chewed her lip, “Could I possibly sit with you?”

The man’s hazel eyes opened slightly, nodding, “Of course.”

Anna smiled slightly and pulled out a chair from the table, sitting herself hurriedly. Doing so, she began to straighten and smooth out her dress with insistence.

“Are you alright?”

Anna looked up, seeing the concern on the male’s face, “Uh, what?’

He laughed a little, the worry on his face easing, “You just looked troubled when I saw you before.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t a big deal,” Anna shrugged, pushing hair back behind her ear.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Anna furrowed her brow, thinking for a moment, “A drink might help.”

The man offered Anna a cup, which she gratefully took and drank most of rather quickly. Lee may have been onto something, it was actually easier the second time around. 

Anna exhaled, “Thanks.”

The man grinned slightly, “The name’s Hans.”

Anna nodded thoughtfully, sipping further from her cup. 

The alcohol was already starting to have an effect on Anna. She was becoming light-headed, it was a faintly pleasant sensation. 

“Feeling better?” Hans asked.

Bubbly, Anna replied, “I am.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You look a lot prettier happy.”

A blush flared up on Anna’s cheeks immediately, she glanced to the side, biting her lip. 

Her embarrassment was forgotten when the activity of the stage caught Anna’s eye. 

There was a noticeable lack of the previous spirited music in the speakeasy, instead a low beat from a bass filled the void. On the stage along with the bass and its player stood a woman wearing a dress tinged with blue, that was similar to the one that pro skirt that had pulled Lee away wore. 

The woman looked out to the crowd and began to sing, “Pack up all my care and woe, here I go singing low...”

Anna could barely see the woman from the distance she was from the stage, but she noticed the singer’s desirable shape well enough. She felt that familiar strangling feeling in her chest she often got around real women. 

“Quite the looker,” Hans commented.

Anna glanced at the suited man who didn’t look at the slight frown on her face or the large swig of alcohol she took. 

She swallowed more as she compared the singer’s chest to the balled up pantyhose filling out the brassiere that bonded to her chest. She thought about Helen and that pro skirt and how they could go off with men without worry. Bitterly finishing her cup of hooch in a gulp, thinking how all the real women didn’t have to deal with practicing to tuck away unwanted bits till she could look at her virtually naked body comfortably.

The envy piled on until Anna was sick to her stomach.

“No one here can love and understand me. Oh, what hard luck stories they all hand me,” Anna again tuned into the drawling singer, the low notes that she sung were actually a comfort to her mind that was now stricken with a sudden heaviness and apparent unnatural warmth Anna registered, feeling her hand to her forehead.

Anna locked blurred eyes with Hans’. Her vision focused a bit and she barely noticed the calculating expression on his handsome face. 

Hans moved his mouth, making him look like a goldfish. Anna didn’t hear what he said, being more focused on his amusing likeness to a fish.

She giggled out, “What?”

“You might want to slow down a bit,” Hans repeated. 

Anna began to snicker, thinking of a ginger goldfish in a suit, shoving her head face into the table to stifle herself where she laughed hysterically until finally passing out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got a chapter done again. I'm so relieved. I hope you enjoyed it, now good night.


End file.
